The Best of Intentions
by Eady of Old
Summary: It all started when Bates was asked to run an errand for his Lordship... Oneshot set in S1.
**The Best of Intentions**

 **Summary:** It all started when Bates was asked to run an errand for his Lordship... Oneshot set in S1.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Downton Abbey. If I did, well... y'all would probably hate me more than Fellowes. ;-)

 **A/N: This story concept was a collaboration and as usual, I have to thank my partner in crime for so much help and support. :) As always, reviews are appreciated. Now that the show is over, getting feedback from readers is often the only thing which keeps me writing.**

* * *

He had been at Downton for only ten months, but already the place felt more like a real home than anywhere Bates had been since the army. In some ways, it rather was like still being in the army, what with the carefully regimented time, the mounds of responsibilities, and of course, his ability to work with Lord Grantham, who he still viewed very much as his commanding officer.

Of course, the other servants had no resemblance to soldiers, and living and working so closely with women was a nice change. In the case of maids like Gwen and Anna, he was happy to have the company of productive, thoughtful individuals. But he could have done well without the unpalatable presence of Miss O'Brien.

"Thank you, Bates," his Lordship said evenly as he fastened the cuff link on the man's sleeve.

They went about the routine of dressing for dinner as though dressing for battle, especially when guests outside the family would be attending the meal. In many ways, it reminded Bates of donning medieval armor, except his master wore well tailored clothing of the finest quality rather than a helm and coat of plates. And Lord Grantham's weapons were his wits and charm rather than swords and maces.

"Oh, before I forget," the Earl said casually. "I was wondering if you could go to Leeds for me tomorrow? I have arranged some time ago for a gift for her Ladyship, and it is finally ready. But they don't wish to make delivery because of the distance."

"Of course, milord," Bates answered easily.

It wasn't a real request anyway, so much as an order still tinged by his Lordship's uneasy feeling about requiring his crippled valet to take on responsibilities he never would have hesitated to give someone else. Bates took a deep breath and then slowly and silently let it out again as he regained control of his inner thoughts. Lord Grantham was a kind and generous employer. He should feel no resentment, only gratitude at remaining in his service.

"May I ask what this gift is?"

"Just a glass bobble, a vase made in the likeness of one she saw when we last visited Paris. It's a bit of an indulgence, I know, but I wanted her to have something for the flowers in her bedroom."

Hidden between the lines of the Earl's response and the careful way he did not look back at his valet through the mirror, Bates suspected the gift was also to sooth her Ladyship's bad feelings about keeping him on as valet.

"Then I will transport it with the utmost caution," he said, already wondering how heavy the piece would be.

Perhaps Lord Grantham had the same concern because he paused while putting on his jacket and turned to Bates. "If it isn't too much for you..." he began.

But Bates was already shaking his head. "Of course not, milord. Your mission is safe with me."

Reinforcing his deliberate language with a smile, he knew that his Lordship would have no choice but to trust him with the errand now. And indeed, the other man's expression melted into an answering smile as the man nodded in turn.

"Of course it is, Bates."

* * *

Anna watched him out of the corner of her eye, careful not to pay the new valet too much attention in front of others. Of course, he was no longer really new, having been there for nearly a year and blending so seamlessly into the staff that she could barely remember Lord Grantham's prior valet. The other one had been an odd duck anyhow. But Mr. Bates was different.

He was not particularly outgoing, although she would not deem him unsociable either. Spending most of his free time in the servants' hall, he seemed content to read his books and listen to the open conversations of others. But his congeniality had quickly marked him out as a friendly person, endearing him to both her and Gwen as well as William and Daisy. Really, the only ones who still seemed to have much problem with him were Thomas and O'Brien, but as Gwen had laughingly observed one evening before bed, they hated everyone.

And Mr. Bates had kept up with his work. Anna heard no complaints from the likes of Lady Mary or the other girls, not that they would have much reason to hear reports of their father's valet if all was going well.

She had returned downstairs after getting the girls dressed for the morning when she spotted the man in question donning his hat and coat.

"Where are you off to, then?" she asked, curious enough to wonder and close enough to the valet to feel no qualms about inquiring.

"An errand in Leeds for his Lordship."

Anna frowned. Leeds was a good distance, and she'd been in the courtyard that morning long enough to observe the gathering clouds as they turned the sky dark and gray. "It is going to rain," she informed him fretfully.

Mister Bates only nodded. "I think you are correct," he said.

"You should take an umbrella."

She watched as his mouth briefly turned into a frown, as though he had already considered this option and discarded it.

"I'm to return with something for his Lordship. Negotiating both the package and an umbrella might be... problematic."

And suddenly, Anna remembered his stick, the ever-present stick which everyone had made such an issue about but was now so much a part of his identity that she barely saw it.

Embarrassed, she said, "Of course. Well, do be careful on the roads."

Part of her suddenly felt resentful towards the lord of the house for sending out his man in such bad weather. Whatever he needed from Leeds could surely wait for another day. Of course, his Lordship likely had not thought about the rain much when making his request, and Mr. Bates was not likely to point it out. Doing so would look too much like weakness for the poor valet who was still obviously trying to prove himself worthy of his position.

"Thank you for your concern," he told her gently before turning to go.

Anna watched him leave, sighing with consternation at the stubbornness of some men. But she could not blame him, nor could she help but worry until his safe return.

* * *

"And what have you got here?"

O'Brien's shrill question made Daisy jump as she looked up from the collection of flora she had assembled on a tray in one corner of the kitchen.

"Herb leaves for teas," the girl answered succinctly. "Mrs. Patmore has been teaching me what to look for, and she reviews it all to make sure I know what's what."

The lady's maid raised a disdainful eye at the practice. Surely a scullery maid had better employments for her time than learning something as complex as gathering medicinal leaves. If O'Brien were in charge, she'd put a stop to such things and keep ideas out of the girl's head.

"Well, you've got that one wrong," she said haughtily, spotting a familiar leaf among others very much like it, but oh so different. "That's foxglove, not comfrey, you ninny," she said, pointing it out.

Daisy looked down at the offending leaf in horror. "But they look just the same."

"Didn't you look at the flowers?" O'Brien demanded. At the girls' expression of mute ignorance, she went on, "Foxglove flowers are larger and have a different shape."

"I... well, they were all growing together so I thought it was the same thing. I didn't look very closely at the flowers."

O'Brien shook her head at the girl. Removing a handkerchief from her pocket, she pulled out the offending foxglove leaf and used a corner of the cloth to poke through the rest of the comfrey leaves to make sure they were what Daisy believed. "I'll do away with this," she said, already concerned Daisy would forget to discard it or mistake which leaf to throw out and accidentally poison someone.

But as she moved to throw it into the rubbish, the lady's maid paused. One foxglove leaf was not enough to kill a person, but in a tea it would make them very sick. An idea began to take shape in her mind.

"You won't tell Mrs. Patmore, will you?" Daisy appealed in distress. "She's been teaching me for weeks and she'll be ever so angry..."

O'Brien tucked the handkerchief-wrapped foxglove leaf neatly into her pocket before turning back to the girl.

"I _should_ tell her," the older woman said severely, and Daisy's face nearly crumpled with distress. "But I won't. This time. You just be careful what you gather in the future."

The scullery maid nodded, and O'Brien left the kitchen, a small smile beginning to blossom on her face.

* * *

The trip to Leeds was not terribly problematic, although the return to Downton left Bates soaked and cold. Anna was right about the rain. His heavy woolen coat could only protect him so much, and the package he carried in his left hand did make it impossible to hold an umbrella as well.

Of course, the umbrella would have only protected him so much. His legs and lower body would still catch a great deal of moisture as he walked. Thankfully, the glass vase was in a protective case, and by its nature it would not mind the dampness besides. He just needed to be certain he did not drop it or run it into anything.

Bates walked slowly on the road back to Downton, careful to avoid the mud as much as he could. With the poor weather, few others were on the road beside him, so there were no witnesses to his wet and disheveled appearance. It wasn't until he was within sight of the house that he thought to consider if he should have asked the chauffeur to drive him to Leeds. But the notion struck him as terribly presumptuous. Surely his Lordship would have mentioned it if he'd wanted his valet to travel by motor car.

Thankfully, Bates' luck held out and he made it to the house without incident, the package for his employer still safe in its case. The vase was not too heavy, but carrying the dead weight in his free hand for so many miles had left his entire body aching. The rain and cold did not help matters either.

However, his luck failed him miserably as the first person he encountered upon entering the back door was Anna. They had become something akin to friends during his months at Downton, and he did not want her to fret over him. He also had no wish to look like a soaking wet fool in front of her given her earlier concern.

To his surprise, Anna did not scold him. Rather, she quite clearly fought to suppress a laugh at his predicament and succeeded in giving him one of her tell-tale smiles.

"May I help with that?" she asked, carefully taking the package from his hand so that he could remove his hat and now extra-heavy coat.

"Thank you," he said, not needing to tell her to be careful with the case. While she might not know what was inside, she did know he had spent his entire day retrieving it from Leeds in the pouring rain.

"You should get out of those wet clothes. Would you like me to take it upstairs while you get changed?" she offered.

"No, no," he said quickly. "I can take it. I may be a bit damp, but I shouldn't leave any puddles on the floor."

If he thought his Lordship would be upstairs, perhaps Bates would have taken her up on the offer. But as he presumed, he found the corridor of the family rooms deserted enough for him to take the case up, wipe it off, and then make his way to his own room in the servants' quarters so he could change into dry clothing.

The cold, exceedingly damp weather along with the trips up and down stairs left his bad leg alight with pain. He was forced to sit and rest in his room for a time as he waited for it to subside into a simple throbbing ache before returning to the servants' hall. Even so, he was left to limp more than he had when he set out that morning and to lean heavily on his cane.

Anna noticed. Just as he had hoped she would not see his discomfort, he was not surprised when he saw her glance quickly downward towards his bad knee before returning up to his face.

But the head housemaid only asked, "Are you all squared away, then?"

"I am. And I even managed to avoid melting from the wet," he said, hoping his teasing tone would distract her from worry.

Anna smiled back at him, a welcome sight after his long and miserable afternoon.

* * *

For once, the girls did not make greater requests for their hair and clothing in order to compete with the others, and Anna had them all ready for dinner in relatively short order. Lady Mary, as always, was the last, but Anna could fix the woman's hair in her sleep. Thus, she arrived in the kitchen with a few minutes to spare, chatting with Daisy while the last of the courses were being prepared to be sent upstairs.

As usual, Mrs. Patmore was chastising Daisy for some imagined slight as she put the finishing touches on a braised leg of lamb. The meat smelled delicious and Anna's stomach automatically grumbled, loud enough for William to hear as he stooped to pick up the dish.

"Hungry?" he asked her with a grin.

Anna smiled back but shook her head. "I think the only lamb I'm likely to see is in a stew," she responded.

"Never say never," the footman answered before heading off with his tray.

When Anna looked back over at the rest of the food preparations, she noticed Daisy staring at her with a strange expression. "What is it?" she asked the kitchen maid.

Daisy glanced from Anna toward the larder where Mrs. Patmore was removing something and then lowered her voice to inquire, "When you were talking with William just now..."

Silence. Anna prompted her with raised eyebrows.

"I just wondered if you fancied him."

She had to control her urge to laugh in response. Instead, her mouth twisted into a deformed grin as she kept her lips from betraying her. Daisy watched her, utterly confused by the reaction.

When she had gotten herself under control, Anna answered quietly and with a measured tone, "No, I don't fancy him, no more than I would fancy Thomas. Now I should let you get back to work before Mrs. Patmore-"

The cook chose that moment to return from the larder and spot her kitchen maid pausing for too long in her duties. "Daisy!" she shouted, her voice both harsh and impatient. "Get your head out of the clouds and back to those meat pies!"

Anna stifled a grin as the kitchen maid jumped slightly before returning to what she had been working on before.

As Anna returned to the servant's hall, she passed Miss O'Brien. The two women had never been enemies, but they were far from friends. Anna found her rude and unhelpful on the best of days, but ever since Mister Bates' arrival at Downton, the lady's maid was downright nasty.

Oddly, the other woman stopped in such a way as to gain Anna's attention. "Was that Mister Bates I saw coming in looking so wet and disheveled earlier?" O'Brien asked.

"He had to run an errand for his Lordship," she defended automatically.

"No doubt." The lady's maid almost sounded sincere as she went on, "Only, I know how badly his leg treats him, and I'm sure the damp will have done him no favors today."

"I'm sure Mister Bates will manage," Anna responded with a strained smile.

"I'm sure he will," she agreed. "If only there were something he could take, to help with the discomfort."

The woman let her statement stand for a moment before shrugging one shoulder indifferently and walking away.

Anna did not believe for a moment that O'Brien had any concerns for Mr. Bates' health, but the statement did plant a seed of an idea in her mind.

* * *

While his Lordship was pleased that the item for Lady Grantham had been retrieved in short order, the trip to Leeds in the wet weather had certainly left its toll on Bates. His leg ached horribly, worse than it had in weeks. And to make matters even worse, he felt the cold settling deep into his bones, such that he wondered if he would ever be warm again. Even when he managed to find a free moment before the servants' evening meal to sit in front of the fire downstairs, the warmth only seemed to scratch the surface.

Anna sat across and a seat away from him at supper that evening, but her eyes often strayed to him. Her expression of worry reminded him of his mother, both in its stubborn intensity and ability to see through all his false assurances.

"I'm perfectly well," he assured her following the meal, as they both waited for the bells on the wall to ring.

However, the maid frowned at him, obviously a keen enough observer to know he was lying completely. But he refused to voice aloud to anyone, even Anna, the pain he felt in his leg. He had spent far too many months trying to assure everyone in the household that he could perform his duties despite his injury and he would not see all that work put to naught due to one unfortunate walk in the rain.

"What about an infusion?" she suggested. "Daisy has been collecting comfrey leaves for Mrs. Patmore, and my mother swears by it as a remedy for... all sorts of ailments."

In truth, a hot cup of tea did sound lovely, herbal remedy or not. But-

"I wouldn't want to trouble you," he said.

Anna brightened, perhaps because he had not outright refused the offer. "No trouble at all," she said quickly before moving towards the kitchen, likely in search of Daisy's stash of comfrey leaves.

Barely a moment passed before the bell for his Lordship's dressing room rang, and Bates was forced to give up his comfortable seat by the fire to attend to his employer. As he left the servants' hall, he gave no notice to Miss O'Brien sitting quietly at the table, stitching some garment for her Ladyship while likewise waiting to be summoned.

And Bates did not see the way she looked up from her work as he left the room, her eyes narrow and steely as they followed him.

* * *

Anna had the infusion waiting for him when he returned from undressing Lord Grantham. The cup, still steaming, was set aside on the corner of the center island in the kitchen, a biscuit likely pilfered from the larder tucked unassumingly along the edge of the saucer.

"Is Anna about?" he asked Daisy, who was mid-yawn as she finished drying one last pot. A quick glance into the servants' hall did not reveal to him the kindly blonde head housemaid.

Daisy nodded, quickly using the towel in her hand to cover her mouth as she finished her yawn. When she had regained herself half a moment later, the kitchen maid added, "She had to go up to undress Lady Mary and the others. But she said she'd left that for you."

Smiling down at the steaming cup, Bates nodded. "She's very kind," he said, the observation more for his own benefit than for Daisy's.

The young woman watched him for a moment as he sipped the tea, the pot and rag apparently forgotten in her hands. "Is it good?" she asked timidly. "Anna used the leaves I gathered for Mrs. Patmore."

The tea had a strange, slightly bitter flavor to it, but he could not disappoint her earnest expression. "Yes, it is very good," he answered.

Her nervousness transformed to pride as she resumed drying her pot. Daisy quickly replaced it among its smaller and larger brethren on the rack by the doorway before offering him an earnest, "Well, goodnight," before scampering towards the stairway to the female servants' quarters.

Bates took a bite of biscuit to mask the bitterness of the infusion, assuming that had been Anna's intention by including it. Or she may have simply left it for him as an additional kindness.

Of everyone at Downton, Anna impressed him the most by her outgoing attitude and general affability. But more than that, she was just... _kind_ to everyone. He had no other word to describe her generous nature. After nearly a year working among the other household servants, he had developed a feel for which were shy but approachable, which still had their doubts, and which were downright hostile. But Anna put herself head and tails above the rest in terms of friendliness.

And it had been a long time since Bates had been privileged with the company of a friend.

After he finished the infusion and the biscuit, he washed the cup and saucer and replaced them in the cupboard so they would not go amiss. Anna still had not come down from undressing the young Crawley ladies, or if she had, he had missed her. The exertions of the day and continuing ache in his leg left him too exhausted to wait up to thank her. With a sigh, he began the long trek up the stairs towards his room.

* * *

Anna dreamed of fields of flowers, endless hills full of colors. And when the open space gave way to dense old forests, they were full of mystery and adventure rather than foreboding. She happened upon Mr. Bates walking a well trod path and fell into step with him.

What they talked of she could not remember. But she woke up smiling to the sound of Daisy's rap on the door.

The light filtering in from the window was darker than usual, and Anna could hear the rain pattering on the glass panes outside. It would be another dreary day, and she was glad not to have to go out in it.

That thought led her to Mr. Bates, and she wondered if he had found the infusion she had left for him the night before. No trace of it was left in the kitchen when she had finally finished undressing Lady Sybil. And she would not put it past Thomas or Miss O'Brien to pour it out if they knew it was for Mr. Bates.

Their hatred of the new valet astonished her. Surely Thomas could not have believed he would be chosen to follow Mr. Watson, not when he had only worked at Downton for a handful of years as a footman. Of course Lord Grantham would advertise for the position. Had it not been Mr. Bates, he would have chosen someone else over Thomas. But there was no reasoning with him, especially not when he had Miss O'Brien whispering in his ear.

Much to Anna's surprise, Mr. Bates did not come down for breakfast. Her brow furrowed as she glanced at Mrs. Hughes, curious whether the housekeeper knew of some development she had not heard about. Surely, his Lordship would not have sacked him the night before and flung him out in the rain?

Mrs. Hughes was in conference with Mr. Carson at their end of the table, and she heard only a snippet of the low tones of their conversation. "...and I'll have to dress his Lordship..."

That piece was enough for her to grow even more concerned for Mr. Bates. Had the walk to Leeds done him in so badly that he could not work? For the first time, she genuinely felt angry at Lord Grantham for having sent him on such a foolhardy errand, and in the rain no less.

But Anna was not the only one to notice the valet's absence from breakfast.

"So where's Mister Bates then?" Thomas asked snidely. "On holiday?"

While Mr. Carson looked both annoyed and uncomfortable with the direct question, he answered it calmly. "Mister Bates is ill today."

"I can dress his Lordship," the footman eagerly volunteered.

No one at the table was surprised at that suggestion, Anna least of all. In fact, Thomas' excitement over the whole thing made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, as though something was not quite right.

The butler answered. "I'll take care of his Lordship this morning and apprise him of the situation. You shall be informed if you are needed, Thomas."

The tone of the man's voice betrayed as much as his message. Mister Carson was the butler, and he would make work assignments as he so chose while Mr. Bates was indisposed. It was certainly not the place of a mere footman to dictate who would dress the lord of the house.

Anna's pleasure at seeing Thomas smacked down was short lived as her concern for Mr. Bates returned. Was the illness related to his injured leg, or was it something else entirely? Perhaps he had come down with a bad cold after walking in the rain?

But her worries were relegated to the back of her mind as she had to get on with the day's work.

* * *

To say he felt ill would have been a massive understatement. As Bates lay in bed, his insides a roiling mess, the room seemed to spin around him. To make matters worse, he had a splitting headache and felt extremely nauseous.

Perhaps traveling to Leeds in the rain had been a bad idea after all.

A logical part of his brain, distant and far too quiet for his liking, suggested that this sickness was different than a simple cold. But every time he tried to grasp onto that bit of wisdom and follow it down a path to some other conclusion, it escaped him like a straw hat blowing in the wind.

They sent a hall boy to check on him, and then William had been by as well with a tray containing some breakfast. While he typically liked Mrs. Patmore's cooking well enough, today it offended Bates in ways he could not describe. He left the tray untouched.

However, after multiple trips to the toilet throughout the morning, his belly felt truly empty. But that void gave him no respite, only an aching hunger he had no wish to feed.

"Mister Carson mentioned sending for the doctor," William told him at some point, alerting Bates to the notion that his illness might be worrying others. Previously, he had little attention for anything beyond his own misery.

"I'm sure that isn't necessary."

Necessary or not, he felt quite certain he'd rather risk death than have the doctor called to the house on _his_ account. He had only been working there a little over half a year, and the notion of being too sickly to work galled him to no end. But to actually have the village doctor called in... That was too much for his pride to bear.

William seemed skeptical, and the footman's expression made Bates wonder how badly he actually looked.

"I just need another day to rest, I think," he assured the young man with more confidence than he actually felt.

Luckily, it was enough to make William go away, although what report he gave to Mr. Carson, Bates could not say. Genuine sleep eluded him, and he had no attention to spare for reading books. He tried to doze amid periods of abject misery while his body rebelled in every conceivable way. What little he consumed seemed to come right back out again, and getting up out of bed so frequently only caused his knee to ache even more.

He knew night had fallen due to the darkness outside his window. William had come to take away his tray of food, barely eaten, but another had not yet been provided. Bates presumed that the other servants were busy doing their work, serving dinner to the family before getting their own evening meal.

He rather resented his growing hunger, and it pushed at the edges of his sickness, vying for importance in his mind. While Bates had no desire to eat, not when he knew what would likely happen to such food, his stomach ignored his wishes and growled with the ferocity of a demon from hell.

Sometime late in the evening, there was a knock on his door. Before he could think to stand, the gentle rap was followed by the door being pushed in. Finally, someone had remembered him up here, sequestered away. Bates expected to see William, or perhaps even a snide Thomas who might bring him a sliver of bread and half a glass of water.

But instead, it was Anna.

His face burned with mortification as she flashed him a quick smile before turning her eyes away from his state of dress. She of course carried a tray loaded with food appropriate for a convalescing sick person - a large bowl of meaty broth, some bread and butter, and a glass of milk.

"I just heard no one has been up to see to you since this morning," she stated by way of apology.

He waived off her concern. "I'm quite well."

Anna's expression suggested that she in no way believed him, but she did not question his lie. Instead, she moved to set the tray across his lap.

"Do you need help?" she asked as he pushed himself up into a more seated position in bed.

The thought of asking the housemaid to spoon feed him broth ranked nearly as high on the list of things he did _not_ want to do as appearing in Buckingham Palace completely naked. Besides, he certainly wasn't an invalid, even if his insides had been in open rebellion all day.

"No thank you," he managed with as much graciousness as he could muster, and he caught Anna suppressing an expression of amusement as she handed over the tray.

She turned to leave but paused for a moment to look back at him. "Are you certain we shouldn't call the doctor?"

"I'm sure the doctor has more important things to see to," he answered, although if he thought for a moment that Clarkson would actually be able to offer him some relief, he might have taken her up on the offer.

With a frown, Anna said, "I can't imagine what could have made you so sick."

However, in the way she said it, Bates thought he caught a tiny hint of guilt, as though she _did_ suspect why he had suddenly become so ill and felt somehow responsible for it.

It occurred to him a moment before she voiced her doubt - the tea.

"I've been worried it might have been the infusion I made you last night," she fretted. Her fingers intertwined in front of her in a nervous manner as she went on. "You see, I was speaking with Mrs. Patmore, and she said that comfrey leaves can sometimes be confused with foxglove leaves. And foxglove is-"

"Toxic, yes," he completed, nodding in understanding. "That would explain it."

Anna's face crumpled. "I feel terrible, Mister Bates."

With a reassuring shake of the head, he told her, "You weren't to know. You were only trying to help."

Bates wished he could offer her more assurances, but the smell of the broth was too much for him to resist, and he reached for the spoon.

"I should let you rest."

The way she said the words, he could tell Anna had no desire to go. But the war between her guilt and propriety kept her poised near the foot of his bed, halfway to the door. He took a swallow of the broth - too lightly salted, just as he'd come to expect from Mrs. Patmore. But the warmth felt good on his throat, and his belly growled in anxious anticipation for more.

"I suppose Thomas is taking care of Lord Grantham during my absence?" he asked, filling the awkwardness between them.

"Mister Carson is standing in." Her face brightened with a bit of conspiratorial gossip. "I don't think he wants to give Thomas the satisfaction."

Bates felt certain that the footman was taking every opportunity to use his illness as an argument that he was not fit to be his Lordship's valet. But at that moment, with his body feeling so terribly, he had trouble caring so far into the future as a few days hence.

"I hope you feel better," Anna told him as she finally slipped out.

* * *

"The doctor said if it was only one or two foxglove leaves, then Mister Bates should start feeling better in a couple of days," Mrs. Hughes stated matter-of-factly to the women assembled in the kitchen. Daisy looked pointedly down at the counter, unwilling or unable to lift her eyes. Anna likewise stood morosely still, her expression pained with obvious guilt. "But he'll be stopping by in the morning just the same."

Mrs. Patmore turned to scold the kitchen maid, "I told you to let me check over everything you'd gathered, and this is precisely the reason!"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Patmore. I thought I had."

"Well obviously you didn't if you let a _foxglove_ leaf slip through to contaminate Mister Bates' tea." The cook looked up at Anna, obviously ready to tear into her as well, but Mrs. Hughes took a protective step forward, for an instant demonstrating that the housemaid was under _her_ jurisdiction, not Mrs. Patmore's.

"I think plenty of lessons have been learned here today," the housekeeper said.

Mrs. Patmore clearly wanted to say more, but she held her tongue. With a nod demonstrating that she believed herself to be understood, Mrs. Hughes left the other women in the kitchen.

When she was out of earshot, Daisy was the first to speak. "Poor Mister Bates..."

"He'll recover," the cook said simply. "You're not the first person to accidentally poison someone. Luckily for you, he'll recover. But he will have a miserable time of it thanks to your inattention."

"But I don't know how it happened-"

The insistence in her voice set off something in Anna, a suspicion she had been harboring but was unable to give credence to without more information. "Daisy," she interrupted. "Was anyone in the kitchen last night when you left out the comfrey leaves for me to make the infusion?"

Daisy answered quickly, "No, just me." A pause. "Oh, and Miss O'Brien came in to make herself a cup of tea. But she didn't say anything to me."

"I'm sure she didn't," Mrs. Patmore muttered, obviously not a fan of her Ladyship's maid. But something else bothered Anna.

"Daisy, why didn't you have Mrs. Patmore look over the comfrey leaves you gave me like you were supposed to?"

While the admission had apparently been made to the cook, the reason behind it was left unresolved, and Anna had a sneaking suspicion why.

"Well, Miss O'Brien looked at them the other day. She seemed to know what she was doing - she took one of the leaves out, said it was the wrong kind. And I did have Mrs. Patmore look at the rest of them, I swear it!"

This revelation came as a surprise to Anna, but certainly not a shock. The fact that Miss O'Brien was involved in the apparent accidental poisoning of Mr. Bates made her truly wonder if it was not so accidental after all. She looked up and saw a similar expression of doubt cross Mrs. Patmore's face.

"Well, we should get to bed," the cook said firmly, steering Daisy out of the kitchen before Anna could ask more questions.

* * *

Doctor Clarkson visited the next morning as promised. After examining the valet and noting a slightly irregular heartbeat, he pronounced the symptoms as being entirely consistent with poisoning by foxglove.

"It's not uncommon," the doctor stated, sounding fairly unconcerned. "But if you don't start to feel better in the next couple of days, have Mister Carson telephone for me again."

In the mean time, Bates was still confined to his bed. The dull white walls of his room, previously a welcome sight when he had first come to Downton, now felt as oppressive and confining as the bars of a prison cell. Well... very nearly.

His body still suffered the effects from the foxglove, making him nauseous and requiring frequent trips to the toilet. He ate little and kept less of it down than he knew he should, focusing instead on drinking broth. The confusion which had initially muddled his mind slowly dissipated, leaving him exhausted and light headed.

William brought him up his morning tray, and Bates tried not to regret that the deliverer of his meals was not Anna. She was likely busy with her own work, and propriety dictated that she not gallivant through the men's quarters anyhow. But he still missed her presence. He missed having someone to talk with, someone with whom he could share an observation from his day or hear some anecdote from hers regarding the lives of the family members they both served.

By the end of his second day in bed, Bates was feeling better, at least somewhat. He had also begun to go stir crazy from being confined to his room for so long. Craving human interaction, he forced himself out of bed and donned clothes fit to wear out of his room.

However, by the time he reached the top of the stairs and got a good look down them, he felt once more overwhelmed by exhaustion. The notion of walking all the way down to the servants' hall only to turn around and come all the way back up left his leg preemptively shaky and his other limbs heavy with fatigue. But if he did not go down now, he would be forced to sit alone in his room for more endless hours.

In some ways, spending two years in prison had changed Bates, he knew, and this was one of the ways he was now different. He missed human interaction, even if most of the other servants merely tolerated his presence.

He stubbornly managed to make it down one flight of stairs before he was met by someone coming up. Smiling bashfully at the sight of her, Bates took a step back.

Of course Anna would volunteer to bring him up a tray with supper.

She shot him a scolding looking. "You don't look well enough to be out of bed just yet, Mister Bates."

"Are you a doctor now?" he asked her, his tone teasing.

"I doubt you'd listen to me even if I were. But seeing as I've brought this tray all the way up here, the least you could do is allow me to deliver it properly."

He tried to offer to take it from her, but Anna would hear none of that. All he could do was accompany her back to his room, opening the door for her as they neared so she could bring the tray inside.

She set it to down on top of his chest of drawers, and Bates was sure to keep the door open. Propriety might have been skirted before when he was too sick to leave his bed, but now that he was upright and fully dressed, it would not do for anyone to find her in his room, especially not with the door closed.

"You should get more rest," she observed.

He gave her a kindly expression. "Too much rest makes me restless."

"Well, while I have a moment alone with you," Anna went on, taking a step forward as she glanced at the open door. Bates raised an eyebrow and straightened in alarm. Surely, she wouldn't-

"I think I know the source of the foxglove leaf in your infusion," she went on, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "and I do not believe it was an accident."

His curiosity was piqued even as he felt horrified at the notion that someone would deliberately poison him. "You think Daisy did it purposefully?"

"Not Daisy."

Anna went on to explain the circumstances surrounding Miss O'Brien's peripheral involvement. There was nothing there that amounted to proof, only to conjecture and suspicion. And Bates realized as he listened to Anna speak that her mind was not always full of kindness and light. She tried to see the good in people, but she also had no trouble judging them as wanting when she disapproved of their behavior. It was not a character flaw precisely. But left unchecked, festering resentment could lead to very bad feelings.

And looking at her, her entire being alight with concern for a fellow servant, Bates did not want to see Anna's character twisted with anger.

"I'm sure it was an accident," he said, "nothing more."

"But Miss O'Brien-"

"No one saw her tamper with the tea or the leaves, did they?"

Frowning, Anna shook her head.

"Then we should leave well enough alone."

Throwing accusations around would do him no favors anyhow, even if they were true. He just needed to be careful around Miss O'Brien. But then, he'd known that since the Duke's visit.

"Thank you for the tray, Anna," he said, his tone full of gratitude even as it contained a kindly dismissal.

She sighed and tilted her head to one side, as if to better understand him.

"I hope you feel better, Mister Bates."

* * *

It took a couple more days for him to improve enough to resume his duties, although he still felt weak and exhausted once he did so. Many of the servants treated him as though he carried a contagious plague, taking an extra step back from him or choosing seats elsewhere. But Anna defied them all with her publicly kind regard. And before long, they followed her example.

Well, all but Thomas and Miss O'Brien. Their whispered conferences in a haze of cigarette smoke continued unabated, as did their snide remarks to Mr. Carson.

In Bates' absence, the butler had indeed chosen to dress his Lordship rather than pass the duties off to a footman. And much to his surprise, Lord Grantham was visibly relieved to see his valet return.

"I'm so glad you're up and around again, Bates," he expressed.

As Bates went through the familiar motions of helping the man on with his morning attire, it quickly became clear that his Lordship harbored some guilt over his valet's illness.

"I should have sent you with the car to Leeds," he said with a sigh. "It was foolish of me not to think of it."

"There was no need, milord."

"Yes, but perhaps you wouldn't have... gotten ill."

The circumstance was like a chink in the Earl's armor, an arrow targeted at his Achilles heel. He felt responsible for those in his employ, both for their livelihoods and their well being. Quick to disabuse him of the notion that the trip to Leeds had anything to do with his illness, Bates related Anna's theory about the foxglove leaf mixed in with the comfrey infusion. But he framed it entirely as an accident with no mention of O'Brien's possible involvement.

"And Doctor Clarkson thinks that could have been the cause?"

Bates nodded. "He agrees it was very likely. The symptoms matched."

He smiled to himself with wry humor. The word "symptoms" barely touched on the misery he had felt. Even still, his belly was not quite set to rights, and Mrs. Patmore indulged him with special meals of porridge and toast.

"Then I feel better. When they told me you came down ill, I assumed it had to do with the errand I sent you on. But you should have asked to take the car, Bates." He looked at his valet in the mirror before adding, "This isn't the army any more."

"No, milord. It certainly isn't."

* * *

Everything gradually settled back into the routine Bates had come to know and love. As he rejoined the other servants in taking his meals in the servants' hall, he sighed with relief at the familiar sounds of Mrs. Patmore yelling at Daisy in the kitchen and Mr. Carson deep voice instructing William on some enshrined aspect of a footman's duties.

Miss O'Brien studiously avoided him even as Thomas went to great pains to insinuate that he was both of a sickly constitution and a deliberate shirker of work. But at least Bates knew where he stood with the likes of those two, and now he had an inkling of exactly how far they would go to sabotage him. It hadn't worked, thankfully. In fact, it had backfired rather spectacularly as Lord Grantham's guilt over Bates' illness only seemed to cement his position in the household.

Mrs. Hughes had offered him a kind return along with a genuine smile, and even Carson appeared relieved at his reappearance.

"I probably should have let Thomas look after his Lordship in your absence," the butler confided in him, "but no sense stirring things up when there is no need."

And of course, Anna was glad to have him back. She made no attempt to hide her feelings.

"You're truly feeling better, then?" she asked, her delight tempered with suspicion.

He assured her, "Much better. Thank you, Anna."

It was the expression of gratitude which seemed to catch her off guard. She froze for a second, her face momentarily showing a flash of uncertainty. While the housemaid recovered herself quickly, he thought he saw her blush, and for just an instance, betray some deeper emotion he could not name. The exchange between them was small and should have been lost in passing, but something about it seemed momentous and noteworthy. He would remember it always.

"Anna?" Mrs. Hughes called from down the corridor. "You're needed in Lady Sybil's room."

Anna allowed their gaze to stay connected for a heartbeat more before she turned to answer the housekeeper and flit back up the stairs in order to see to her duties.

* * *

 _fin_


End file.
